him to remarry in a Roman Catholic ceremony.) The couple lived in London and N ew York, but Vilar steadily dis- tanced himself from his wife. Though they shared a love of opera-Dichov had previously been involved with an aspiring tenor-and often attended Covent Garden and the Met, Vilar told friends that she was unsophisticated and that he had to teach her about the art form. Mter Vilar's name was listed in the Met program as a donor, Di- chov was hurt that the listing didn't read "Mr. and Mrs. Alberto Vilar," like those of other married couples. They separated in 1990, and, after a pro- tracted divorce, Vilar insisted that she revert to the use of her maiden name. Still, they remained friends. Vilar paid the mortgages on Dichov's San Fran- cisco and London apartments, and in 2001 he took her and her mother to the Bayreuth Festival, where they dined with Wolfgang Wagner, fulfilling a lifelong dream ofDichov's mother. Even before the divorce, Vilar was often accompanied to events by a succes- sion of women who, to varying degrees, were perceived as girlfriends, or even as prospective wives. Indeed, Vilar referred to some as S.M.C.s, which stood for "se- rious marriage candidates." Generally speaking, these weren't society figures or glamorous models but attractive, un- derstated women content to let Vilar be the center of attention. An exception to the pattern was the soprano Renée Fleming, with whom he attended various music and social events. Vilar told me that they dated briefly, adding that she is a "nice, lovely per- son," but he said that it never progressed much beyond his being a "groupie," and that as a rule he didn't try to date the many opera stars whom he met. Vilar told me that his romantic life was much exaggerated. "I never had girlfriends lined up," he said. "I wasn't chasing women. I went to so many per- formances and galas, where most of the women I met were older or in couples. My hobby, which was to sit in a concert hall a hundred times a year, was some- thing I was perfectly comfortable doing alone. I was a shy, shy, shy boy with girls. My father's worst fear was that 1'd become a priest." Sometimes, though, the lines be- tween personal and professional re- lationships blurred. One companion, whom Vilar dated intermittently for six years, was Dana Smith, a woman twenty years younger, who worked at Amerindo in various capacities, includ- ing chief compliance officer. In 2000, she quit the firm, but they continued to see each other; at the time of his arrest, she was asked to serve as interim pres- ident of the company. Another close friend, though not a romantic inter- est, was Lily Cates, the mother of the actress Phoebe Cates. She had often counselled Vilar on his romances and friendships with women. Her first hus- band, Joseph Cates, had produced "The $64,000 Qyestion," in the nineteen- fifties. In 1999, she married Marshall Naif)r, a theatre-chain entrepreneur and horse breeder, and Vilar gave her away at the wedding. When Naif)r died, the following year, she inherited a portion of his considerable estate, which to- talled, according to Forbes, $1.7 billion. Cates was also a prominent investor in Amerindo. Vilar told the S.E.C. last year that, under his supervision, Cates's initial investment, of $1.7 million, in 1987, had soared to above ten million, along with an additional six million in "distributions" over the years. As the number of his friends and acquaintances in the opera world ex- panded, and news of his Met gift spread, he became the most sought-after donor in the world of music. In the eyes of several people close to him, Vilar was oblivious of the possibility that he was being pursued for his money rather than for his musical taste or personal popu- larity. Edgar Vincent, Plácido Domin- go's longtime manager, told me, "My whole feeling is that this man was in- secure and wanted to have the love and respect of as many people as possible. You're never fêted as much for the sec- ond ten million as you are for the first. Therefore he was constantly think- ing of new donations, new pledges. He spread himself so thin. He needed the adulation." On October 4, 2000, Vilar turned sixty. Dana Smith and his closest friend, James McMurtry, a retired neurosur- geon and an avid operagoer, gave a sur- prise birthday party for him and two hundred and fifty well-wishers at the Union Club, on East Sixty-ninth Street, where McMurtry is a member. Plácido Domingo, the baritone Dwayne Croft, and a Spanish zarzuela group sang, and J ames Levine played the piano. A filmed tribute included appearances by Ger- giev, Fleming, and the former opera star Beverly Sills. Vilar looks back on it now as the high point of his life. O n March 10, 2000, when the N as- daq composite index topped out at 5132.52, Amerindo had more than nine billion dollars under management. N ow the Nasdaq suffered the worst 'Yes, but Mummy and Daddy are on legal drugs. "